32. Chapter 32
Julian
Iknock on Elowen’s door, knowing I’m four minutes early. I used to count tardiness in seconds, but now I stand in this unfamiliar hallway with its scuffed baseboards, wondering if arriving early is still controlling and imposing my schedule on everyone else’s day.
The door swings open, and there are my children, faces bright with an enthusiasm I’m still not used to seeing directed at me.
“Dad!” Leo’s voice cracks with excitement. “You’re here! I need to show you my project!”
“Daddy!” Meredith barrels into my legs with the force of a miniature linebacker. Her curls tickle my chin as I bend to lift her, smelling the strawberry shampoo Elowen prefers.
“Careful with the door,” Elowen says from somewhere behind them. “Mrs. Ahme across the hall complains about noise.”
I step inside, carefully closing the door behind me. “I’m not too early, am I?”
“What?” She frowns and glances at the clock. “No. A few minutes is fine.”
“What would you consider too early?”
“Too early, Julian?”
My irritation rises, but I push it down. She’s echoing because she’s trying to understand. “Yes. If I came, say, half an hour early, would that be frustrating?”
She hums from the back of her throat. “A little. Think of it as your business meetings. If a client came five, ten minutes early, you might not be ready for them, but you wouldn’t freak out, right?” I nod. “But if they were thirty minutes, or an hour…”
Got it. I thank her and then scan the apartment.
Children’s artwork covers the refrigerator. I recognize Leo’s handwriting on science diagrams and Meredith’s exuberant splashes of color that spill beyond whatever she’s trying to depict. Magnetic bright letters spell out “HOME” across the middle of the fridge.
“Dad, come see!” Leo tugs my sleeve, pulling me toward the dining table where papers and cardboard are arranged in neat piles. “It’s my science project. I’m building a model of sustainable energy for a house, like I told you. Mom says your company has invested in some.”
“We have solar panels,” Leo explains, pointing to small blue squares cut from construction paper, “and a wind turbine for backup power.” A lone toilet paper roll stands behind the house with what looks like pillow feathers glued to the top of it.
“It’s impressive,” I say, and mean it. The design is ambitious for a nine-year-old.
Leo beams, and I realize I’ve accidentally said exactly the right thing by treating his work seriously.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Meredith tugs at my sleeve from the other side. “Come see Bartholomew! I’m taking care of him so Mom can see how good I take care of kitties, so then maybe I can take Pepper home!”
“Just a minute, Mi-Mi.” I crouch to meet her eye level. “Let me finish looking at Leo’s project first, then I promise I’ll meet Bartholomew.”
Her lower lip pokes out briefly before she nods. “Okay, but hurry. He’s shy with new people.”
I turn back to Leo’s project, giving him my full attention. “Tell me how the energy storage works.”
As Leo launches into an explanation that mixes solid science with imagination, involving locked storage crates that sound like something out of Ghost Busters, I catch sight of Elowen moving around the kitchen.
Her curly hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, escaping tendrils framing her face.
She wears simple pink sweatpants and a soft gray T-shirt.
There’s nothing earth-shattering about her outfit, but it still looks like she belongs in a fashion magazine.
I remember the revelation I had in the coffee shop, the sickening moment of reading my own words about her appearance. About her nose. About her hair. The list of “improvements” I’d planned before I’d even asked her to marry me.
Now, watching her taste something from a wooden spoon, nodding to herself with quiet confidence, I wonder how I never saw how perfect she was exactly as she is.
“—and that’s how the batteries store extra power for nighttime,” Leo concludes, looking at me expectantly.
“Smart design,” I say, dragging my attention back where it belongs. “Have you calculated how much energy they can hold?”
His face lights up at the question, and he reaches for a paper covered in careful numbers. Before he can show me his calculations, Meredith’s patience expires.
“Now meet Bartholomew!” she insists, tugging me toward a child-sized armchair in the corner. “He’s waiting, and it’s past his naptime!”
I look apologetically at Leo, who sighs with the exaggerated patience of an older sibling. “It’s okay. She won’t stop until you see him.”
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, letting myself be pulled across the small living room.
Meredith points triumphantly to a stuffed cat sitting in the chair—orange with a squashed face and permanently annoyed expression that looks remarkably like—
“It’s Balthazar!” I say with genuine surprise.
“No, it’s Bartholomew,” Meredith corrects seriously. “He’s Balthazar’s brother. They got separated when they were kittens. That’s why Balthazar is so grumpy; he misses his long-lost twin brother.”
“I see the family resemblance,” I say, examining the toy’s embroidered scowl. “Where did you find Bartholomew?”
“Miss Beatrix gave him to me! She said he’s been hiding in the shelter office for years, but when she saw me playing with Balthazar, she knew he wanted to come home with me. When I finally get to take Pepper home, they’re going to get married.”
I make a mental note to thank Beatrix for the gesture. The gruff shelter manager has shown unexpected kindness toward my children, despite being so no-nonsense.
“Do you think Balthazar will be less grumpy when he sees his brother?”
Meredith’s face grows solemn. “Maybe. But Miss Beatrix says some cats need more time to trust people because they’ve been hurt before. We have to be patient. Besides, Balthazar might get grumpy when he learns his brother gets to marry Pepper. We’ll have to find another kitty for him.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Elowen announces. “Leo, can you please wash your hands and help Meredith with hers?”
The children scamper toward the bathroom, leaving Elowen and me alone for the first time tonight.
“Thanks for having me over,” I say, the words feeling inadequate against the backdrop of our complicated history. “I’ve been learning to cook. Next time, maybe I can help.”
“You’ve been cooking? Somehow, I can’t imagine.” She’s not being unkind; I get it, having never even boiled water before.
“Let me prove it. Can I help with anything?”
“Everything’s already done, unfortunately.” She gestures toward the small dining table, already set with mismatched plates and everyday glasses. “I’m going to take you up on ‘next time,’ though.”
Hearing her say the words next time makes me relax completely. Relief and excitement hit me all at once, making me smile before I can stop myself. I finally have the promise of a future of some sort with her.
The children return, filling the silence with their chatter as we settle around the table.
Leo carefully explains the food groups visible on his plate to Meredith, who listens with unusual attentiveness before declaring that the broccoli looks like “tiny trees for gnomes and fairies” and “I wonder if goblins are their children.”
I watch Elowen pass the dishes. She catches me looking and relaxes.
“Leo was telling me about the new cat climbing structure at the sanctuary,” she says, offering a safe topic.
“The one with three levels?” I ask, grateful for the conversation. “Connor installed it yesterday. Beatrix said it’s already getting use.”
“Even Balthazar tried it,” Leo adds excitedly. “He only hissed twice when Dad put him on the bottom platform.”
“That’s progress,” Elowen says, her eyes meeting mine briefly over the children’s heads.
The pasta may be homemade, but it’s better than any five-star restaurant because it was made by Elowen’s hands. I recognize the recipe as one her grandmother taught her, something she used to make in our early days together before I insisted we needed to “maintain our standard of living.”
“—and then the kitten with extra-long whiskers jumped all the way to the tippity-top shelf,” Meredith exclaims, her free hand gesturing to show the impressive height. The movement throws off her balance as she reaches for her cup of grape juice. “Miss Beatrix said she’s never seen a kitten that—”
It happens in that slow-motion clarity of impending disaster. Her small fingers connect with the cup at the wrong angle. Said cup tips, then topples completely, sending a wave of purple liquid spreading everywhere across the table.
“Oh no!” Meredith freezes, forgetting her story.
The juice flows straight to Leo’s project, which he’d proudly placed at the end of the table, “so we can admire it during dinner.” The purple liquid reaches the base of his toilet paper turbine, seeping into the cardboard.
“My project!” Leo cries.
My body tenses with the old, familiar response.
It’s that instinct to take control and chastise.
Meredith, you should have been more careful.
Leo, you should have left the project you’ve worked so hard on in a safe place.
Instead, I catch myself. I watch Elowen’s shoulders tighten as she automatically reaches for the paper towels, her expression carefully neutral, but her body bracing for my reaction.
I hate how I conditioned that response in her.
Then I notice Leo’s face crumple in anticipation of criticism.
The fear isn’t of me now, but of the memory of me.
Meredith’s eyes widen in alarm, her gaze sliding sideways to check my reaction.
They’re all waiting for the old Julian, and that realization hits me with actual physical pain. My family is conditioned to expect my disapproval. All for spilled juice.
“No pressure, Mi-Mi,” I say instead, keeping my voice deliberately light. “Accidents happen.”
Now there’s a subtle shift in Elowen’s posture, the slight release of tension in her shoulders even as she continues reaching for paper towels.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith whispers, her lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I assure her, already moving to help contain the spreading liquid. “That’s why they’re called accidents.”
Leo stares despondently at his project. A small sound escapes him. He’d worked so hard on it and was so proud.
“It’s ruined,” he says, his voice defeated.
“Not ruined,” I say, carefully lifting the damaged structure. “Just temporarily set back. Let’s get this onto a dry surface first, then we can fix any wreckage.”
“Of course, Leo,” Elowen agrees. “Dad and I will help. I’m sure Mi-Mi will, too.”
Meredith nods eagerly. “Oh, yes! We’ll make it as puuurrrfect as it once was.”
We all work together for the next several minutes. It’s like how we were at the shelter, except better. Here, the common goal isn’t helping cats and dogs, it’s coming together to help one another.
Elowen and I reach for the same lingering purple stain at the same moment. My fingers brush against the back of hers, a contact so intoxicating that the oxygen seems to vanish from the room. The heat from her skin sears through our touch, but I don’t pull back, and neither does she.
I watch as her lips part with a quick intake of air, her gaze lifting to mine with depth.
The instinct to reach out is a desperate longing to settle my hands on the curve of her hips and pull her flush against me until there is no space left between our bodies.
I want to feel the weight of her, to bridge the distance I created.
“Mom!” Leo yells. “Can I unroll our toilet paper for a new turbine?”
She steps back, erasing the moment. “Go for it, Leo.”
Feeling like my family is within reach, I put my hands in my pockets. “Have coffee with me next weekend so we can talk? Just us?”
My stomach about drops out my toes when she answers, “Yes.”